


To Take One's Place

by SherlockedCumbercookie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Blood and Violence, Human John, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, War, Werewolf Sherlock, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, not your typical werewolf story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockedCumbercookie/pseuds/SherlockedCumbercookie
Summary: Sherlock is a young shifter/werewolf kidnapped and sold into slavery to a man named John, whose job is to train Sherlock to become a bloodthirsty battle wolf. This is not your typical werewolf story, just warning. No hot werewolf Sherlock but hot human John and eventual smut.I unpublished this due to some harassing commenters but people begged me to bring it back so here you go. You will be reported if you say hateful things :)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So basically, to help you understand, Sherlock is mostly in his half human/half wolf form. He only transforms into his wolf form during a battle or hunt.

The doe burst from the thicket, eyes rolling in fright, as she made one last desperate lunge for freedom. The river ahead was wide, deep, and full of rushing water. Chunks of ice clashed together in the fray, sounding like gunshots to the poor doe’s ears. The river was the last place on earth she wanted to be but she had no choice. The wolves were closing in, their sharp, blood-stained teeth just inches from her hooves. Her heart pounded in her tiny ribcage, blood rushed to her ears, and her breath came in short, painful gasps. Her heavy winter coat was layered with foamy sweat mixed with blood. Just a few yards more and she would have freedom. 

A sleek black wolf lunged ahead of the hunting pack, strong legs pumping with each powerful stride. Its long, red tongue lolled as it pursued in chase, eyes glittering with a wild, ravenous hunger. It was gaining on the doe, inch by inch, and it could practically smell it’s prey’s blood, coursing in veins beneath the rough brown hide. 

“Sherlock!” someone called sharply. 

The black wolf’s ears pricked and it scrabbled against the icy ground, trying to gain a footing as it attempted to halt. Finally, after much tripping and flipping head over heels, the wolf came to a stop, its body almost entirely buried in a deep snow bank. 

“Sherlock,” said the voice again and a magnificent grey wolf trotted over to the black wolf’s side. “You fool!” 

The black wolf pulled its head out of the snow and shook it wildly before licking its snout with its long tongue. “I almost had her,” he said indignantly, boring the grey wolf with a piercing, icy blue gaze. “Why did you stop me?” 

Looking mildly annoyed, the grey wolf-who stood a whole head taller than the black one-lifted his snout and pointed it in the direction of the rest of the pack, who were taking the moment to rest, their sides heaving and their tongues lolling. “How many times must I remind you, Sherlock? The strength of the pack is the wolf but the…” 

“Strength of the wolf is the pack,” the black wolf finished quickly. “Yes.. yes, I know.” 

“You must learn to hunt with the pack or not at all. Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you are still too young to go hunting with us,” the grey wolf replied calmly, leaning forward to lick off some snowflakes from the other’s shaggy black coat. “I stopped you not only because you weren’t hunting with the pack, but you were about to jump into the river.” The grey wolf lifted his magnificent head and stared with calculating golden eyes at the roaring waters. “If you went in, you would be lost forever.” 

The black wolf looked down at the rushing river and tossed its head. “I can swim,” it mumbled underneath its breath. 

“You can’t swim in those waters,” the grey wolf countered. “The raving waters of the Great River is one thing that the mighty wolf cannot fight. You are not invincible, Sherlock. Now come on. We have lost our prey. Let’s return to the pack. It is getting dark and that is when the hunters come out and seek to do us harm.” 

As the two wolves returned, the pack rose to their feet and from their midst stepped a reddish-colored wolf with long, gangly legs and huge paws. “Ahh, Sherlock. The dinner ruiner of course. When will you ever learn, brother mine?” the wolf said sarcastically, giving the black wolf a hard push with his snout. The black wolf, fur rising, growled back. “Oh, no need to get so worked up, little brother.” The red wolf backed away a little, his tail bristling. 

“Alright, you two, stop this nonsense,” the grey wolf said, stepping in between the young males. “It is time to change.” 

With that, the grey wolf tossed back his head and let out a primeval howl that sent shudders of pride through the surrounding pack. Grey fur melted away to reveal snow white skin. Long fangs receded into normal human teeth. Limbs and paws contorted and then disappeared into human appendages with fingers and toes. The last of the fur disappeared, leaving a full grown male with dark hair, green eyes, and snowy white skin. 

As soon as the grey wolf had changed, the rest of the pack began to as well, fur ripping away to reveal human features. The black wolf’s dark fur tore away to reveal a young man, not even twenty, with a long, lean well-muscled frame wrapped in flawless white skin. Dark curls, errantly brushed with carelessness, hung over glittering, intelligent green-blue eyes. The young man was naked, like his companions, but this did not seem to bother him as he continued to walk on all fours, casually sniffing the ground. Anyone could have looked at him and called him human if it weren’t for the black ears still sticking out of the dark curls and the black tail swishing lazily behind him. 

This was a pack of werewolves, perhaps the rarest creature in Europe. The werewolves had once fought a great war with the humans and had lost, resulting in thousands of their kind being captured and turned into slaves. Siger Holmes, once a great warlord, fled with his omega mate, Violet, and eked out a living in the rugged hills of Scotland, growing their pack and gathering strength. They had remained untouched for years, humans having a natural fear of the dark hills and the strange creatures within. 

“We must head back to the caves,” Siger announced, starting up the hills. “Violet will be worried. We will have nothing to eat tonight, I am afraid. That doe was the first prey I have seen here in a while and unfortunately, we would have gone to our deaths had we chased after her. The humans… bloody humans are robbing this land of all edible game. We will have to start thinking of other options. After all, there are some pups to be born and they will need nutrition.” 

Sherlock followed after his father, pausing every now and then to sniff at a tree. He was the youngest of the Holmes pack. It was Sherringford, Mycroft, Eurus, and then him. All his siblings were alphas-strong, muscular, and with wild protective instincts. Sherlock, however, was an omega and he was more slender and delicate than his siblings. He was nearing his 18th year and his mother hoped to have him bonded yet Sherlock showed no interest in a significant other. All he wanted to do was roam the rugged hills and feel the wind blowing through his fur as he ran. 

Mycroft, who was standing on two legs, looked distastefully down at his younger brother. “Act properly. Stand up. You have legs,” he snapped. 

Sherlock growled a little and his tail bristled with agitation. “Mycroft, shut up. You can’t smell all the scents when you are up so high.” He paused beside a snow-covered berry bush and sniffed at the base. He could smell something… it was rather faint and almost washed out but he knew what it was immediately. He jumped back, tail between his legs, and let out a howl of warning. “Human!” 

Instantly, Siger and the other wolves dropped to their hands and knees, their human forms giving way to their wolf forms. When Siger had fully shifted, he hurried over to Sherlock’s side and sniffed the bush. “Yes… it is a human. The human was here not long ago…” Siger turned from the bush and began to sniff the ground surrounding the plant. “More than one human. Several. How many, I cannot tell.” 

Sherlock, now in his wolf form, lifted his nose in the air and sniffed. More faint human smell flooded his nostrils and he growled menacingly. “They are close,” he whispered, a shiver of excitement shooting up his spine. He braced himself on all fours, ready to run at a moment’s notice. 

“Bloody hell! It’s freezing!” 

A human voice rang clearly through the woods and all the wolves froze. 

Sherlock’s sharp ears picked up more sounds: boots crunching on snow, men breathing, the cocking of a gun. “Father, they are a hunting party. They have guns,” he warned. 

Siger’s green eyes flashed with anger. “Why are they here? Humans have never ventured this far into our territory! We are close to the caves. We cannot let them find the pups and the mates. I need a volunteer, a swift runner, who can lead the hunters away from the caves!” Siger’s ears were fully alert and his tail was stiff, the hair bristling. 

“I can!” Sherlock exclaimed, immediately jumping forward. “I am a fast runner. I will lead them away from the caves.” 

Siger looked pained. “Sherlock, no, son, it is too dangerous. Your mother would kill me if I let you do this. You are young and do not know the territory as well as some of us older wolves know. I will send Greg instead,” Siger said, looking pointedly over at a grey wolf with deep brown eyes. 

Sherlock stamped a paw on the ground. “I am not helpless, Father. I can outrun the hunters any old day and I know what I am doing. I have often explored these parts on my own. Please…?” The humans were getting closer. The scent was much stronger and it made Sherlock want to gag. “We don’t have much time, Father. Get to the caves. I will go.” Without waiting for his father’s consent, Sherlock turned around and headed straight towards the humans, a blur of black fur. 

Sherlock ran, ignoring the cries and barks of his pack urging him to come back. They were stupid. He was not an idiot. It was time he stepped into his role as prince and protected the youngsters and elderly. Besides, he was fleet-footed and young and would not wear out so easily as an older werewolf. He ran across the soft, fresh snow, his wide paws allowing him to stay on the surface of the snow and not break through. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, flooding his body and soul with excitement.

The black wolf burst through a thicket and came face to face with a group of werewolf hunters, clad in leather hunting gear and carrying black rifles. The hunters reeled back, surprised that their prey had come directly to them. The shock didn’t stay forever. The men were quickly scrambling for their rifles and had their sights aimed on Sherlock before the black wolf could blink. 

Playing the naive wolf, Sherlock swished his tail and let his tongue hang out, cocking his head in a friendly gesture. 

“What’s he doing?” one of the hunters asked, sounding very confused. “He doesn’t seem like a very dangerous creature to me-” 

“Shut it. This creature is dangerous. It will take just a peep to make him turn into a vicious, snarling monster,” another man interrupted. This man was clearly the leader. He was in front of the others and had an air of command about him. He stared at Sherlock with deep, black, cruel eyes that glowed with greed and anticipation. 

Despite himself, Sherlock shivered and backed up a few steps. 

“Alright, beauty. You’re going nowhere,” the man said and lifted his rifle.

Like a bullet, Sherlock took off, bounding into the woods, before the man could fire.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock ran, snow blowing in his eyes and wind ruffling his black fur. He could hear the hunters; their voices rang out clearly behind him. He had only a matter of minutes before he reached the thick bracket and then, he would lose them there. Although he had been running for what seemed like hours, he did not gasp for breath nor did he stumble. His youth was in his favor and the humans’ two legs and clumsy feet prevented them from getting within yards of the young werewolf. 

Almost there… almost there…

Pop!

Something stung him fiercely, just below his head on his neck. He howled in agony but kept on running, knowing he had no time to stop and check what had struck him. Suddenly, his legs felt a little heavy and his neck started to ache and stiffen. Sluggishly, Sherlock ran on, sinking into the snow and stumbling over his own paws. What was happening to him? Had the bloody humans shot him with some sort of poison? 

Unable to continue, Sherlock collapsed to the ground in a panting, writhing mass. He whimpered and craned his neck so that he could see what had struck him. It was a dart with a neo green tail. With the last of his quickly-fading strength, Sherlock latched his jaws around the dart and yanked it out. The pinprick of pain was lost to him as his eyes closed against their will and his head fell atop his front paws. 

He was vaguely aware of hands prodding him and rough voices talking above his head. 

Growling weakly, he tried to fight off the hands but to no avail. 

The overwhelming urge to sleep finally overcame him. 

*******************************

John Watson stared at the cage that contained the werewolf. He couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful creature. The werewolf had transformed to its human form, save for black, pointed ears and a luxurious black tail. For a werewolf, the creature was beautiful, with silky black curls, high, sharp cheekbones, pale, flawless skin and eyes that were a brilliant mix of green, blue, and silver. John had never seen such coloring on a werewolf before and he was becoming increasingly curious about the creature. 

“This is yours, Watson,” a man said, giving the cage a kick with his boot. “It’s just captured. Young. Estimated age to be around 16-almost 17. In good health except for mild undernourishment. That’s to be expected, considering this hard winter and the lack of game. We had it chipped and collared. As you know, this creature is now to be one of our war dogs. You will train it to become a significant fighting force in the battle. To gain its obedience, you must be prepared to punish it severely. These animals are dumb and they will immediately submit to a hard hand.” 

The werewolf, still dazed from the tranquilizer dart it had been shot with, was cowering in the corner of the cage, naked form shivering with fear and cold. It growled every time John or the man came near and John saw it had sharp, pointed teeth shaped like curved daggers. Those teeth were powerful. They could cut a man in half and the way the wolf was acting, it was almost certain that, if given a chance, John would be decapitated before he could blink. However, John was a military man and it would take a lot to make him lose his cool. “Hello,” he whispered softly in a soothing tone. “I’m John.” 

He got a reply in a form of snarling and a clawed hand that stuck through the bars, nearly missing his face by inches. 

“Shh, shh, beauty. I know you’re scared… I know this is all new for you but you’re going to be alright. I’m going to take care of you, alright? However, we need to set some ground rules first, alright?” John looked directly into the werewolf’s eyes and the creature cowered a little, black ears flattening against its skull. “That’s a good boy… Now listen closely. If you bite me, I will punish you. If you snap at me, I will punish you. If you growl at me, I will punish you. If you behave calmly and do not try to eat me, you will be rewarded.” John reached into his pocket and pulled out a ziploc bag which contained scraps of fresh venison. He smiled when the werewolf licked his lips, eyes glowing with anticipation. “Do you understand? I know that you can speak and we need to discuss that too but first, tell me that you understand.” 

The werewolf wrapped its tail around itself and whimpered. “Yes,” it whispered, voice crackly. 

“That’s a good boy,” John praised and he slipped a scrap of venison in through the bars of the cage. “Alright. As your master, I have set the rule that you may only talk when spoken to and if you attempt to speak without permission, you will be muzzled and punished. Now, you may speak because I wish for you to tell me your name. I will decide whether I will keep it or not. Oh, and my name is John. John Watson.” He did not like being so threatening but this werewolf needed a leader and a guide. The lack of an alpha present was causing the wolf to become disoriented and confused. 

“S-Sherlock,” the werewolf whispered and it was rewarded with another piece of meat, which was gobbled up quickly. 

“Hungry, are you, Sherlock?” John asked, hesitantly slipping a hand through the bars. “I have more. Stay still now, alright? I’m going to touch you and I warn you, if you dare bite me, I will punish you and you will get no more treats.” He reached for the werewolf and studied the wolf’s reaction warily. The wolf’s ears were fully alert but it did not make a move. “That’s a good boy… that’s a good lad,” John whispered, his fingers now brushing the pale skin. He could feel the werewolf shudder beneath his touch and he was delighted when the wolf didn’t growl. “Good lad,” John said. “That’s a good boy.” He ran his hands over the werewolf’s side, feeling every rib. “The winter has been hard on you, hasn’t it, boy? I know. Don’t worry. You’ll be fed properly now, Sherlock..” 

The werewolf gazed back with cool, calculating eyes, not making a sound. 

************************

Sherlock stared at John, trying to figure out this human. He spoke firmly yet his eyes were soft and kind and his touch was gentle and did not hurt. He had delicious snacks as well. If he was to be stuck with humans, then he supposed John would be his best bet. Sherlock had always hated the smell of humans. They smelled like gunpowder, sweat, and cruelty. John, however, was different. He smelled faintly like gunpowder but also like warm tea, fresh snow, mint, and rainy days. John’s smell did not hurt Sherlock’s nose like the smells of other humans did. 

The food in John’s hand was tantalizing and Sherlock, still wary, nosed at John’s fingers, trying to pry them apart. John chuckled quietly and opened his hand. Sherlock lapped up the treat and then retreated back, watching John while chewing on the meat. 

“Alright boy, I’m going to open your cage, alright? I know you want to get out. A magnificent creature like you should not be kept in such a small space,” John spoke softly, rising slowly to his feet. 

Sherlock rose on all fours and slammed against the door of the cage. 

“I know, but you must be patient and you must behave,” John said soothingly. He pulled out a leather leash from his pocket and held it out to Sherlock to sniff. “I’m going to attach this to the collar around your neck. If you stay still, you will get another treat.” 

Sherlock growled at the leash and backed away. He did not want to be held down by the leash. He was a werewolf-not a mere dog. 

“Sherlock,” said John in a warning tone of voice. “I don’t want to make this any harder.” 

The werewolf lashed out a clawed hand through the bars and barked. 

“No. Bad boy,” John exclaimed sharply and he reached through the bars and cuffed Sherlock rather harshly on the head. The werewolf, stunned by the pain, whimpered and recoiled, distracted enough so that John could open the cage door and clip the leash to the collar before the creature could attack. 

Sherlock, head pounding from the blow, started to panic when he found he was leashed. He whined and yelped in agony, twisting this way and that, trying to free himself from the leather rope. How dare this human leash him like a simple cur? Anger overcame his initial fear and he began to lash out with claws and teeth, trying to get a swipe at John, who was watching him, with an infuriating expression of calm on his face. 

“That’s enough, Sherlock,” John commanded firmly. “You are not making it any easier on yourself. I do not want to hurt you but I must punish you when you do not obey. I know the leash is new for you but you will get used to it.” John squatted down on the ground and held out a hand to Sherlock. “Come here, boy. I know you don’t trust me yet but I hope you will soon.” 

Sherlock stopped struggling in the leash and meekly trotted up to John. His heart screamed at him to fight but his mind told him to obey. He did not want to be struck again. 

John smiled when he saw Sherlock’s obedience. “Good boy,” he said, reaching out and tentatively running his hands through the werewolf’s black curls. “I know this is hard but we’ll get through this together. I’ll be here to help you every step of the way, but only if you are willing to work with me.” John looked into Sherlock’s eyes and the werewolf glared back. To Sherlock’s surprise, John held his gaze and did not look away.

Sherlock whimpered, lifting his head and pointing towards the hills. He longed to be back with his pack, to run free and wild on the snowy slopes. Here, he was nothing but a slave, a war machine, and a dog. He did not trust this John and he did not want to work with him but he knew that if he was to survive, he must, and so, with his tail between his legs, he laid down and rolled over in a sign of submission.


End file.
